Wednesday, July 28, 2010

This immediately made me think of my friend Veronica, who shares the author's hatred of the word moist. I don't hate moist particularly, but I do have a personal shortlist of words I dislike, including veggies, ooze, spurt, congeal, panties, and greasy - that last especially when it's pronounced greezy, the way my high-school journalism teacher (a nebbishy little man with the worst dandruff I have ever seen on another human being), always said it. If you could combine those six words into one sentence it would probably kill me.

I do like pulp in my orange juice, though. I would totally buy a carton labeled "Holy Shit Pulp" if I could find one. G is completely grossed out by both pulp and OJ, and I enjoy walking into her room with a tall, cold glass and announcing "I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to drink my PULPY JUICE now. MMMM PULP." Hey, I've got to entertain myself somehow.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

It's 24 minutes past midnight, and I just crept downstairs, silent and stealthy as a ninja, and removed a box of cereal from the pantry. I eased the pantry door shut again so it wouldn't close with a bang, then slowly ran a finger under the sealed flap of the cereal box and teased apart the cellophane bag inside. Then, moving with the precision of a bomb-dismantling technician about to snip the red wire, I opened a cupboard, delicately lifted a bowl from the top of the stack, plucked a spoon from the silverware drawer, and managed to fill the bowl without letting cereal rattle against the sides.

All this so that G, whose bedroom is on the same level as the kitchen, and who is still wide awake even though I made her go to bed more than an hour ago, would not hear me and yell "HEY MOM, ARE YOU EATING SOMETHING? YOU'RE EATING SOMETHING, AREN'T YOU? WHAT IS IT? I'M HUUUUUUNGRY!"

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Me: *comment about something*
G: *eyeroll*
Me: No, no, no. You need to work on your technique. You can't be a proper teenager without a really good eye roll. Do it again, only more exaggerated.
G: *big dramatic eyeroll*
Me: Okay, now to really add some impact to it, you'll want to put one hand on your hip, like this.
G: *hand on hip, rolling eyes*
Me: See? I was your age once. And now add in some sound effects, like this: "Gah, Mother. Ugh." And maybe a tongue click and an exasperated sigh.
G: *repeats, giggling*
Me: There, that's much better. Now ... don't ever do it at me. Got it?
G: Right.